


The One

by Smiles4U2



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Mistakes, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-03-08 21:05:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13466529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smiles4U2/pseuds/Smiles4U2
Summary: … in which Viktor meets ‘The One’ at 27 and realizes that maybe making that ‘if we hit 25 and we’re both still single, let’s get married!’ pact with Chris wasn’t such a good idea.





	The One

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there,
> 
> This idea has been rattling around in my head all evening, and I decided I needed to put it on paper. So, without further ado, here is The One, my first one-shot. Yes, I know. Ha ha. Very punny.
> 
> Hope you enjoy. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are most appreciated.
> 
> I sadly do not own Yuri!!! On Ice.

_“Chris?” Viktor whimpered into the phone, tears rapidly streaming down his face and collecting in his baby blue turtleneck. “You still there?”_

_“Yeah, I’m here mon cheri,” his best friend replied from much, much too far away. Viktor just wanted him in St. Petersburg_ now _, preferably in his achingly empty arms. Beside him on the couch, Makka whined plaintively, inching as close as she could get without crushing him with her everlasting puppy weight._

_“I don’t want to ever feel like this again,” he sobbed brokenly, digging his fingers into Makka’s fur to ground himself. His most recent break up and the media blow-up was eating at him from the inside, suffocating and sickening him._

_This time, it turned out the guy had been cheating on him for months. He’d only found out when he’d accidentally stumbled in on them – wrapped up naked in his bed together – after coming back from a competition a night too early. After throwing both of them out in the street, he’d stripped his bed, going so far as to burn the blankets the next day. He thought about moving apartments, but decided it would likely impact his ability to get to the rink._

_He wished he could burn out his eyes, or maybe his heart, too._

_It was like this every time._

_Chris sighed, consolingly. “Oh Viktor, I wish there was something I could do. You don’t deserve this.”_

_At his best friend’s pity, a fresh round of tears poured down his already-stinging face. God, he didn’t want to feel this shitty again._

_Suddenly, it came to him._

_Inspiration._

_Or possibly divine intervention._

_Maybe he didn’t have to._

_“Make me a promise, Chris!”_

_For a split second, in the demanding tone of the thing, Chris could hear Viktor’s charisma shine through, lifting the veil of searing pain and depression in which his closest friend had been cloaked for the past two weeks. His drive was one of the things Chris loved about Viktor the most._

_“You know I’ll do anything for you,_ _mon chou. What are you thinking?”_

_“This is going to sound crazy,” Viktor cautioned._

_Viktor could practically hear Chris’ answering smirk through the phone. “When have we ever played by the rules, mon ami?”_

_“Ok, here it goes.”_

_“I’m listening.”_

_“If we’re both still single with no prospects when we hit 25, let’s get married.”_

_“Mon dieu-”_

_“-Just hear me out!” He continued, “We already know the sex is fine, good even, and we can keep each other company, protect each other.”_

_Viktor could hear static crackling over the line, Chris breathing heavily._

_Only when he couldn’t stand the waiting, the anticipation, any more, he asked: “So, what do you think?”_

_“Hmmm,” Chris considered. “Not that I’m opposed, but what if the right person, ‘the one’, ever does come along? For me? Or for you? What would we do?”_

_“It’s not going to happen for me,” Viktor cut him off again, sighing heavily, “It seems whatever God made me a ‘living legend’ took my potential for life and love as his payment.”_

_Chris’ sad chuckle was his only reply._

_“If you don’t like it, we don’t have to do it. I would never want you to feel like I’ve stolen anything from you. Lord knows, I’ve taken enough.” Viktor silently bemoaned the countless gold medals that might have been Chris’ in another lifetime._

_“Viktor, it would be no hardship to spend the rest of my life with you. You are good, and kind, and beautiful. Besides, turning 25 is lifetimes away. You only turned 20 this past December. So, I’m in. Let’s do it.”_

_“It’s a deal.”_

_\--_

Viktor had always been, well, a bit … impulsive.

 

At least, that was what his husband Christophe Giacometti called it when he was trying to be kind. Yakov and his youngest protégé Yuri Plisetsky both just pronounced him an idiot. That was the one thing they could actually agree on.

 

His marriage to Christophe wasn’t a sham, exactly. They certainly loved each other. But it was a marriage of convenience, of expectation, of promises whispered on unspeakably painful nights and remembered and kept.

 

It was a marriage, in part, of obligation.

 

For the first couple of months, it had been great, wonderful even. They’d snuck off to honeymoon in Chris’ native Zurich, Switzerland, traversing the city hand-in-hand, drinking gallons of the most exquisite wines, and falling into bed together like rabbits.

 

The skating world had flipped out when the two of them had returned from their off-season vacation in Vegas two years ago, sporting matching bow ties and rings. Apparently, a bunch of shippers had been quite pleased with themselves for guessing correctly, but the majority of Viktor’s fans were beside themselves. He’d never experienced a media storm quite like it before, not even when he’d managed to clinch three consecutive gold medals at the GFP, World’s, and the Olympics within a month of one another.

 

 

But soon enough, their mutual high from doing something so spontaneous had faded. Cheapened. Their skating seasonal obligations hadn’t helped matters, with Chris refusing to leave his childhood coach and family friend, Josef Karpisek, despite bodily moving to be with Viktor in St. Petersburg. His skype coaching sessions with Josef at the Russian rink had caused tensions to rapidly heighten, further ostracizing Chris from Viktor’s rink mates.

 

Plus, Viktor was pretty sure that Yakov had figured it out. Their spur-of-the-moment marriage. And boy, did he not seem to approve.

 

Speedily, their fervour for one another’s bodies cooled. On more than one occasion, Viktor knew that Christophe sought out what he was looking for, what Viktor couldn’t bring himself to offer him, elsewhere. But he always came back. So really, Viktor didn’t let it bother him. Much.

 

“Oy! Viktor! Get your head out of your ass and off of the ice!”

 

… which was how he’d found himself here, at Sochi, feeling about as uninspired as ever after delivering yet another technically-perfect free skate to astounded audiences. Even the routine that he’d intended to be a scream out into the void of his loneliness had failed to inspire a damn thing in his chest. Go figure.

 

Flashing his blindingly cinematic smile at the surrounding reporters and lazily signing several autographs for his fans, Viktor nearly missed the final skater of the day preparing to enter the rink.

 

Nearly.

 

The boy had pitch-black, perfectly coiffed hair, and he was sporting a blue and white Team Japan jacket, which he shucked off and handed to a man Viktor recognized as coach Celestino Cialdini.

 

But, as he turned away from his coach, there was something… _off_ about the expression on his face. His beautiful brown eyes were puffy and red-rimmed, like he’d been weeping mere minutes ago. He looked broken. It was an expression Viktor was all too familiar with.

 

Viktor wanted to watch him skate.

 

No, he _needed_ to watch him skate.

 

After leaning over the boards for a quick last word from his coach, the boy took the ice, flying through a couple of warm up laps, and waving to the screaming audience. Finally, he took his starting pose, head tilted downwards, eyes closed.

 

\--

Ok, so the boy – who Viktor soon learned was named Yuuri Katsuki – had massively flubbed his free skate, landing him in sixth place. Out of six.

 

Whatever had been bothering Katsuki before the performance had obviously taken a serious toll on him. He’d stepped out of most of his jump landings and fallen on all of the others.

 

What really caught Viktor’s eye though was the boy’s determination. Instead of staying down, Katsuki fell and rose to fall again, refusing to give up, refusing to take what was given to him and let it be enough.

 

Ok fine, so maybe Viktor was projecting a little bit there.

 

No, what was really quite extraordinary about Katsuki were his step sequences. Without jumps to trip him up, Yuuri floated across the ice, emoting and making music with his body in a way that would have easily put even the most accomplished ice dancers to shame. It was honestly too bad that today had been such a disaster for Katsuki, jump wise.

 

Had he cleanly managed even half of his planned jumps, Viktor was sure he could have won.

 

As Viktor fumbled knots into his tie, attention focused completely on the media coverage of Katsuki’s short program of the previous day rather than the task at hand, he felt fingers gently pry off his own.

 

With little more than a sigh, Chris made short work of undoing and redoing Viktor’s tie, allowing Viktor to focus on the computer screen in front of him.

 

“What’s on your mind, mon cheri?” he asked, sensing his husband’s preoccupation.

 

Instead of providing a straight answer, Viktor answered Chris’ question with one of his own. “Have you heard of or met a certain skater? A Yuuri Katsuki?”

 

Chris chuckled, surprising Viktor, and smoothing out his tie without a thought.

 

“But of course. Is this you finally admitting that you forgot to pay attention to any of your competitors other than moi this season?”

 

“We all know you’re a special case, Chris,” Viktor bantered back. “No, seriously, what do you know about him?”

 

“Wow, Nikiforov, actually interested in someone else, for once.” Ok, that stung a bit.

 

“Well,” Chris continued, “he’s been nicknamed Japan’s Ace, though as you probably noticed today, he was kind of a beautiful mess.”

 

“Yeah. I noticed. I was actually wondering what happened to make him mess up so badly.”

 

“Perhaps we’ll find out at the Banquet. You can ask him yourself. And speaking of,” Chris motioned to the door, “We’d better get going or our coaches will have our heads.”

 

\--

 

“ _You! Dance off! Now!_ ”

 

“ _My family owns a hot spring resort, so please come_!”

 

“ _Be my coach Viktor_!”

 

“ _If I win this dance off, you’ll be my coach, right? You will, won’t you?_ ”

 

\--

 

Yuuri Katsuki had come into his life like a whirling dumpster fire of a mess, and Viktor had never, in his entire life, felt a love quite like this for anything or anyone that even remotely compared.

 

There was really only one problem.

 

“Darling, are you all packed and ready to go?”

 

Yeah.

 

His husband.

 

…His very sexy, compassionate, smart, and sociable husband who also happened to be his best friend.

 

“Yep, I’m ready Chris. We have a couple of hours to eat breakfast and get to the airport, right?”

 

When Chris gave an affirmative nod, Viktor crossed his toes and decided to go for it. If he was going to be impulsive, it should be for a good reason, dammit.

 

“Any chance we can stop by the rink? I think I left a sweatshirt there yesterday.”

 

Chris, ever the agreeable one, chirped back, “Of course, dear one. Let’s go look for it now!”

 

It seemed Viktor wasn’t the only one with an itching need to be back near an ice rink today. As soon as they’d made it through the double doors, Chris spotted an old friend desperately in need of a bottom-fondling, while Yuri Plisetsky cornered him for feedback about his gold-medal winning junior division performance.

 

Viktor huffed. It wasn’t like he had anything to lose by giving him the pointers he’d requested.

 

“…about your free performance, the step-sequence could use more-”

                       

He barely registered Yuri’s petulant, “I won, so who cares?” comeback.

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he had spotted him again.

 

He was here, dragging his suitcase behind him, looking a bit worse for wear. Maybe those 12 glasses of champagne had gotten to him, after all?

 

Yuuri Katsuki.

 

Miraculously catching his eye, Viktor couldn’t mask the honest-to-god smile from spreading joyfully across his face. Even Yuri noticed the change, looking up with a grimace.

 

Popping his hip (in a way he hoped appeared) nonchalantly, he asked the only appropriate question he could summon to mind.

 

“A commemorative photo? Sure.”

 

And Katsuki Yuuri surprised him again.

 

He turned around and walked away.

 

\--

 

Viktor was _so_ not moping.

 

Sure, he’d called in sick to Yakov (despite receiving an earful about responsibilities and blah, blah, blah) and barely taken his pyjamas off in three consecutive days (yeah, they were kind of starting to smell funky) and had hired a dog walker for Makka with his piles and piles of prize money and was refusing to eat anything except freshly delivered gluten free scones from the bakery down the street, but honestly, he was totally, 100%, certifiable _fine_.

 

And all of this over a stupid boy!

 

What right did Viktor have to feel such ridiculous feelings, anyway? He hadn’t truly felt anything in months, no _years_ if he was honest with himself, and now it was all flooding back like some unstoppable natural disaster, a repressed tsunami of emotion. How fucking apt.

 

He was married, for Christ sakes! Literally married to Christ! Ok, well, Chris, but you get the idea.

 

Just because an adorable boy had set his heart on fire and then promptly bashed it to pieces by never calling or texting or even remotely breathing in his direction didn’t mean that Viktor-

 

Ok, fine. It meant things. To Viktor. And Viktor was not fine.

 

Honestly, what did he even hope to get out of this- _this thing_ with Katsuki?

 

Assuming the boy-who-should-not-be-named ever decided to reach out to him?

 

It’s not like he could just up and walk away from his husband of two years and his coach of twelve years and his plethora of obligations and his dog and his whole life here in a country half way across the world!

 

… even if the monotony of repeatedly performing technically perfect routines and feeling next to nothing was slowly sucking his lifeblood dry. Oh great, next he’d probably start dreaming about sparkling in the sunlight. Or about Yuuri sparkling in the--- yep. Time to halt that train of thought _right now_.

 

Clambering unsteadily to his feet for the first time in what felt like a millennia, Viktor slowly weaved his way towards the bathroom, Makka dutifully trailing in his wake. He couldn’t go on like this. He needed to shower and change and pull himself together. The ‘I have the 72 hour stomach flu’ thing was only going to work on Christophe for so long before he noticed something was up and made him talk whatever it was to death.

 

It was time to put on his big boy pants, get over his crush, and get back to his life.

 

His deadened, dreary, loveless, fake life.

 

\--

 

It was on a perfectly normal day when everything changed.

 

Viktor had just finished skating circuits, spraying up ice as he came to a stop by his water bottle at the boards. The furious ice tiger, who had spent the last hour on his heels demanding a lesson in the quad flip, had fallen uncharacteristically silent while scrolling through his phone.

 

“Yo, you. Have you seen this piece of shit?”

 

“I’m sorry, have I seen what?”

 

“This….this video,” he yelped, fumbling for words, “Just who does this loser think he is?”

 

Viktor, too busy envisioning a step sequence for next season’s _Agape_ program in his mind’s eye, just hummed an offhanded “What loser?”

 

“Just look, you moron!” Plisetsky roared, slamming his phone into Viktor’s outstretched free hand and pushing off to do furious twizzles across the rink.

 

And Viktor? Well, what was he supposed to do? Yuri Plisetsky had basically just handed over his most prized possession like it was nothing. So he looked, of course.

 

And nearly dropped the phone.

 

The short clip was entitled: “Yuuri Katsuki tries to skate Viktor Nikiforov’s free program _Stammi Vicino_.”

 

\--

 

For Viktor, that video had been the equivalent of a shout back into the void. No, his void.

 

Stay by my side and never leave.

 

That’s all he’d ever truly wanted from anybody. No, from those he loved.

 

And, with Chris, he’d come _so close_ to having it all. A best friend. A fellow skater. An occasional lover. Yet still, it wasn’t enough.

 

He was startled out of his thoughts to see Christophe, leaning casually against the doorframe, watching him contemplatively through his spectacles.

 

“This is the end of the road for us, isn’t it?” he says.

 

He sounds… resigned.

 

For once, he omits the pet names that had become a staple of their relationship… a bit of glue necessary to patch up the slowly widening cracks in their foundation.

 

“Don’t tell me you thought you were hiding this from me, mon cher?” he continued, quite calmly. “I’ve been able to read you like an open book since we met when I was twelve.”

 

Viktor didn’t even know what to say. He was almost afraid to look him in the eyes.

 

“I- I just didn’t want to upset you. I don’t think I could ever explain- could thank you for everything you’ve done for me. But Chris, we can’t keep doing this. It is ruining me. And it doesn’t make me love you any less. You’ll always be my best friend.”

 

“I know. Just as you’ll always be mine. So, it is time, Vitya. Ask me for- no, _tell me what you need_.”

 

“Chris, I need a divorce.”

 

“I figured as much. It’s already in the mail. Here’s your plane ticket to Japan. Go get ‘em, tiger!”


End file.
